Titanium
by Oacus
Summary: "I think men, growing up; you have to grow through some form of hardship. You've got to harden the metal and bend the titanium." (Based upon manga Chapter 369)


**Titanium**

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_"The purpose of all wars, is peace." – Saint Augustine_

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_Standard disclaimers apply_

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It was raining hard.

_Unbelievably hard._

The sun had already been put to rest, all the glorious rays of sunlight far from view. Clouds had long drooped over the night sky, casting a gloomy impression to those who even bothered to look up.

_Thunder._

In the busy skirmishes of Amegakure, people ran through the structures of the village and took cover. Through the dark skies where the gods slept soundly in their homes and the purple and blue salamanders that basked in the ravenous moonlight – lightning tore across the heavens and made its first strike in the night.

Hanzo sat in a wooden chair, disregarding the circumstances outside. As the torrential rain grew, the winds lunged past his window flaps and roared at his face and left a set of scratches on his mask.

_Titanium._

The effects of age had begun to show heavily on the grey mask, obviously time and fate had not been kind enough to deliver a more considerate prospect. Yet as a small candle lit up the room, a glint of illuminating light had begun to cast itself around the room and upon the shadows.

The sound of speaking servants and shuffling feet could be heard outside, their minds occupied with their current duties of guest care and the brewing of herbal tea.

In the corner of the room knelt his prized kursarigama. The chain sat on the ground drenched in rust, coiled up alongside the sickle whose heavily scored metal gave off a sickly gleam. The combination of the two represented a tattered reflection of his past, present and all that was supposed to be of his future.

For Hanzo was old, as the wrinkled skin underneath his eyes had begun to sag and blemish.

The rain that poured around his small house was harder than ever. However, when had the rain in Amegakure ever been this heavy? When had it ever been so turbulent amongst the gentle civilians that resided here? When had it ever been in such a savage rage, the shackles of vehemence stirring up the most ardent of monsters in the abyss?

While all of these pondering thoughts made their way into Hanzo's mind, the candle began to go out. And soon, the illuminating glint of his mask and gleam that protruded from his kusarigama were nowhere to be seen.

_Thunder._

Lightening hit the ceiling once more, drawing out an unfamiliar presence in the background. Hanzo closed his eyes and sank more comfortably in his chair. The rain hadn't been this heavy in years. The rain hadn't been this heavy since _he_came.

A piercing scream ripped through the air as the sound of metal rods plunging through flesh could be distinctly heard. In an instant he had leapt to his feet, all eyes and ears listening. And as the sound of a trailing cloak began to sound nearer and nearer, the wind howled as he was thrown back by some unseeable force.

An utter, excruciating pain surged through him.

And then there was silence.

"I thought it was you."

The silhouette of a man with spiky hair stood before him. Unusual bits of a metal stuck out from his ear and various body parts, poking their way into sight. Hanzo let out a small titter.

"I knew it was you." He said, a soft smile touching his lips. "It had to be you. Ever since that day on the battlefield where you stood at the bottom of the hill, looking up at me with such defiance using those goddamn eyes of yours. I knew that it would be you to defeat me – eventually." As the man moved forward with silent steps, a familiar face came into view.

Shock, horror and utter disbelief streaked through Hanzo as he refused to let the downtrodden emotions run through.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead? Weren't you the one who many assumed to have killed yourself at the hands of a teammate?"

His questions froze in mid-air as they were met with silence. A pair of purple, ringed orbs gleamed in the darkness as the echoing of clanging metal could be heard. Hanzo grimaced in pain and clutched tightly to his left arm where his undergarments had been stained, soaked and unbelievably coated in blood.

He swatted at a pole that flew at him and latched itself hungrily at the wound. His aim failed miserably whilst five other figures made their way around the old man. Hanzo puffed his chest at the sight and decided to continue.

"I really don't know how you're alive when really – you're supposed to be dead."

"Your point is?"

"My point is that, it's those pairs of eyes that have something to do with it. There was once a time when the creator of jutsu, came to be. Mark my words; he had those purple eyes of yours. Those ringed, purple orbs of a legend, of a god. The eyes that created the very first gateway which sought out the path to peace. Supposedly, you must've inherited his eyes. I assume you have the matching power, too, only god knows."

At the end of his statement a single man stepped forward from the group to speak. Hanzo immediately recognized him that it was _he_ who was the favourite, the one who had been pulling the strings. Astonishment rose through him as the man's face became more and more visible, those purple eyes boring into him once more.

"You." He rasped, "You're supposed to be…"

"Dead?"

"It can't be possible that you're alive. I saw how that kunai drove straight into you – the punctures of the wound were sure to be deep. I saw how you met your death."

"You thought wrong then."

The orange-haired man raised a hand to gesture to the five other figures standing around him. Six pairs of eyes glistened with power amongst the shadows. And for the second time in his life, Hanzo began to experience the unveiling might of true fear.

"You assumed Yahiko was dead, supposedly he did by the tip of a kunai." Declared the man. Hanzo clenched his jaw tightly, misty drops of sweat mixing with his breath forming on his mask.

"Only one boy could've had _those_eyes. And yet, only one boy was killed other than him."

"Yahiko experienced a pain under your wrath. A pain so agonizing and tormenting that it greatly affected all those around him."

The man who had been speaking pulled out another metal rod from his sleeve. Without warning he raised it high; the metal luminous in the moonlight in all its radiant and manifesting grandeur. The orange-haired man looked on.

"And so will you."

The rod snapped and instantly penetrated through Hanzo's chest, driving a pain so far where he could never have imagined. A grunting noise escaped him.

"Who are you?"

"That should be the least of your worries."

Ignoring the pounding in his ears, Hanzo tried again and banged a fist on the wooden floorboards. "I'll ask you again," he growled, "who are you?"

The six figures that had begun to walk away stopped. Halting in their tracks, they spun on their heel ever so gently as what seemed to the favourite vessel of the group raised a hand.

"We," he declared, as Hazno could only look on at the remaining five figures, "are Pain. We are the ones who will rid this world of war and the chaotic miseries that accompany it. We are the peace bringers, the one who will bring restoration and end the corruption of war during the darkest hours of adversity. We are the ones who will show the world _pain_ during the endless, decaying cracks of dawn."

The main _'Pain'_ reached to tug the rod that protruded from a wounded Hanzo. Six orange heads their heads high in unison, all twelve eyes gleaming.

"We are God."

A cry of pain ran through Hanzo as he felt the rod slowly being pulled out, the tantalizing, burning sensation he felt as it seared and fought with his flesh. He fell to the ground, wheezing hard through his mask.

"A God, eh?" He chuckled, "I wonder what sort of a God you'll turn out to be. Will you end this war? Will you find the answer to hatred and where it hides in harshest of sun rays? Will you make it to the top of the mountain, achieving the desired peace and solace that so many have sought, fought for – and ultimately failed?"

"God never fails."

"Never fails? Oh, how I wonder."

Had he not seen the extent of the boy's power, the very damage the pair of eyes could do – Hanzo would've thought the opponent was insane. Yet, when he had reached his own personal achievements, when had he ever been in a sane state of mind? The orange haired man could've killed him, so many opportunities to leap in for the kill had been present.

Yet, why did he stop? Why did he hesitate?

As the crucial seconds went by, the edges of his once proficient vision began to dim quickly. His spine seemed to sizzle with acute jabs of discomfort, as small reverberations of pops and bursts began to start cracking in his bones.

_I'll be damned if I let such a puny factor stop me._

A heaving amount of effort was all it took for him to sit up so he could breathe easier. "You think your different from me, don't you?" he asked, "You think we both stand on a different hill, our ideologies conflicting each other like night and day?"

The body that looked strongly recognizable as a former rebel leader of an organization that once threatened his power; raised its head to speak. "We are _far_ from standing on dainty hills, looking amongst dead flowers and leaves that dance beneath our feet."

"Enlighten me then, young one."

"We are the people who stand at the edge of a cliff, watching as the hour darkens just before the dawn."

"Oh?"

"And yet, we are not."

Interestingly, the _'Pain'_seemed to be intrigued. Looking down upon the old man, a glimmer of confusion flickered through his eyes. This couldn't be the same man he had encountered on that rainy night. This couldn't be the man that had caused him so much grief and so much _pain._

Here lied the man he had lived to defeat, destroy and kill. And yet, the man was asking the questions despite a lack of breath.

And yet, the man was speaking as if they were equal, as if they were the same.

"You're probably correct." Agreed Hanzo, "Perhaps we are the same, perhaps we are not. Although I have to be honest with you and say that from my sincere point of view, we're not so different."

"Explain then."

A deep, rich laugh entered the old man's eyes.

"With those eyes of yours, it's quite simple to say that we've both longed for the same thing. We've both sought, fought, shed blood, sweat and tears for that one thing called peace. However, even I know that we've gone about different ways of trying to grasp for it. I, for one, used all that could in my _power_ to seek it. You, dear boy, speak of your pain and all the grief in the world that it has given you."

Hanzo watched as the _'Pain's_ grip on the rod slackened and he knew for a moment, he had the younger man in his reaching grasp. "I, like you and all those walk with you, was born into a time of war and desperately wanted to stop it. This rainy area was one that was filled with constant strife and even then there were other tyrants before me.

As the years past, I stood as you did against so many and then became a hero of hope, peace and prosperity for many of the people. Soon my legend had formed, but I had always known and always feared that one day, another person would rise to the trial and challenge my reign."

"You feared…?"

"Of course, even the mighty Hanzo of the Salamander, the ruler who had slaughtered so many in so little time – had a fear. When I heard of your organisation and your moralities of peace, it only made me recognize even more that the fear I once had – was alive. In due course, the very thought of it drove me to the brink of insanity, forcing me and telling me that I was a God, and that a God's word rules all.

It is only now that I look back and apprehend that during then, I had forgotten about peace. As time flies by in what seems to be faster than a blink of an eye, even my titanium mask has worn thin of the cycle of cause and effect."

Silence filled the two as the rain roared on, the thunder echoing through the skies and birds outside flapping their wings. Hanzo looked outside the window and spoke once more. "In a way, it is quite satisfying that I won't have to polish my mask anymore and wipe off the rotting stench that follows it. Nonetheless you talk of peace, having experienced the pain and torment needed to reach it."

An overwhelming desire to cough consumed Hanzo. Blood began to clog up amongst the small breathing holes in his mask, and then the main vessel of '_Pain'_ withdrew the rod he had been holding and opened his mouth.

"Even the most ignorant, innocent child will eventually grow up as they learn what true pain is. It affects what they say, what they think…and they become real people. I have looked past that, and from that experience, I am rising to be more than a mere human figure and becoming more of a God."

The rain still hadn't stopped, and Hanzo began to ponder the thought if the land was still sending him death regards. "You call yourself a god, and it even makes me even more riveted. Are you still holding onto that pain, are you still grasping the very clutches of fringes of mortality? It is as if you afraid to do so, in a manner of speaking."

The smell of incongruity was thick in the smothering air as the main vessel disagreed.

"Pain? My pain is far greater than yours – it always has. By thinking, speaking and knowing about pain – we are becoming less of a man – and more of a god. The pain that I hold is the reason I stand here before you, utterly victorious. It is the main source of my power, and the one thing that causes me to walk with the knowledge that I will seize this thing called peace."

"Whatever the cost."

And then Hanzo began to realize it, the missing piece of the puzzle. Again, a deep laugh obtruded from his now panting chest. "So it is true, then. The body I speak to is a vessel – a body of your old friend that had me perplexed unto his death. The act of overlooking it, I can never ask myself enough as to why I missed it."

"That is supposedly true. However, your time of pain and death is near, old man."

It was supposed to be a small insult, and Hanzo could only take it as the smallest level of mockery. Admittedly, he was just currently so, _so,_ tired. The last of his power would soon be at an end.

"If you call yourself a god, then answer this once last time. Will you find the answer to pain and all that causes despair and terror? Will you grasp the fieriest of ignitions that hold peace?

Will you end this reign?"

The titanium rod appeared in the hand of 'Pain,' pausing to consider the questions. "End this reign? Perhaps, perhaps not. As a God, it is in my favour not to find peace, but to seize it. The end of such a reign is one thing that has already been done."

"Done?"

"Oh yes. It is the rebirth of an era. It is the combination of fire, air and hot, molten metal which awaits the renewal of titanium."

Hanzo wheezed with a small chuckle, the memory of the small, red-haired boy standing amongst his friends flitting across his vision. "You've _really_ grown, haven't you, young man? It's a shame that I won't be able to fight alongside the pain you've burdened on those shoulders. The _'Six Paths of Pain'_you called yourself, didn't you?

Then live by your name, and use your past experiences to show the world that you can end this reign. Live by your statements of pain, and show the world a God of true peace.

I think men, growing up; you have to grow through some form of hardship. You've got to harden the metal and bend the titanium. A god? Well, I'm not so sure."

The last of the _Pain_s had now fully surrounded him for a second time; metal rods could be heard in the air as they sliced through Hanzo's flesh again and again. Comprehending the fact that the old man's heart had stopped beating and was now finished off, he stopped.

"That may be so, or that may not. But then again, only the hand of a God, is fit to grasp that newly relished rod of titanium."

As the six figures began to walk off in the hours of the early morning, the rain had stopped. Meters from the very house which was the place where Hanzo's body lay lifeless, a purple salamander crawled amongst the various rocks and shot below into a freezing pond of water and into the unseeable unknowns below.

As the last droplet of water fell from the heavens, a clatter could be heard.

Conversely, a titanium mask covered in sweat and ultimately blood rattled on the floor, glistening with droplets of water in the rays of a rising, glorious sun.

_End._

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**Author's Note:** Thoughts?


End file.
